


The Sleep Habits of a Puppet

by Afgncaap



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, I'm going to leave Grunkle Stan as Stanford cuz that's what we were told at this point in the show, but there will certainly be an obnoxious amount of puppet puns, story only partially planned through
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afgncaap/pseuds/Afgncaap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a dream demon steals your body and takes it for an irresponsible joyride, it's not so easy to just walk away ... somewhat literally, in ways. Now that Dipper finally has a chance to get some rest, he finds himself desperately avoiding sleep out of fear and paranoia. How can he sleep soundly now that a dream demon could so easily return and take off with his body again, perhaps permanently? Yet again, it seems that Dipper's biggest obstacle could turn out to be his own over-thinking self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - When You Cut the Strings

... the puppet shall then collapse to the floor. One might feel kind when untethering such a thing, giving the poor marionette its freedom, but freedom only does a body so much good without the strength left for autonomy.

 

Dipper Pines finds himself feeling like such a puppet. Weak from his involuntary performance, he can hardly walk without falling on his face. Still, were he to be consulted, he would certainly say that a body to himself is far, far better than no body at all. Even despite all the damage that has accrued, from that which stings sharply to that which dully throbs, he is glad for it.

His appreciation doesn't make him feel any less awful.

While Mabel first underestimated this weariness, she begins to catch on to just how poorly he feels as they walk to the car. She offers to let him lean on her; he can hardly refuse. The physical support then somehow escalates to the point that, by the time they reach the vehicle, she is all but carrying her brother along. Their Grunkle looks upon them with a certain level of scrutiny - probably wondering why Dipper ended up so injured after what only seemed to be a mild scuffle between siblings. Frankly, Dipper is too distracted by the intricate duet of pain and relief within his head to worry about what Stan might think about the whole thing.

Getting into the car is for Dipper a process full of pained grunting and noodle limbs, but with yet more of Mabel's help the task is complete. All situated, Dipper feels ready to voice his request from before. "Hey, guys? Is there any chance we could make a trip to the hospital?" Evincing his case, he then holds up his left arm and twists it around slightly; the gentle movement is still enough to make him wince at the resulting sharp sensation. "I think this is probably sprained, if not worse, and I'm pretty sure that's not the only thing that needs looked at," he adds, thinking of the fall his body took down the stairs and of the fight with Mabel, "Please, Grunkle Stan?" He gives the old man his best, most entreating look.

Grunkle Stan turns back and eyes Dipper closely, trying to judge his condition. Sighing, he scolds, "What do you take me for? Of course you're going to see a doctor, you look terrible! Although I am warning you that the nearest hospital is several hours away," _and expensive_ , he thinks to himself resignedly, "We should probably wait to leave until tomorrow if we can. Do you think you can make it until then?"

Dipper catches a dubious glance from Mabel and turns to look at himself. Nasty bruises are sprouting up all over, there are several small cuts and tine-shaped wounds here and there, and everything hurts to move. "Uhhhh ... yeah?" his voice squeaks out, "Yeah, I'll be alright." This time, both of them look at him dubiously, as if to say, "Are you _sure_?" but they concede after a moment when Dipper displays no further hesitation.

The proceeding car ride skates the edge of comfortably to awkwardly silent - at least so far as Dipper experiences it. On the one hand, he is grateful to be safe amongst his family. He finds himself particularly enjoying the feeling of the cool window's glass on his sore face, the subtle, quiet tones of the radio music, and the gentle bumping motion of the old car on the pavement. Such sensations are far better when you have proper sensory input rather than the detachment of a dreamscaperer's perspective. On the contrary side, it does take a bit from his enjoyment when he notes that Mabel and Grunkle Stan seem to be deep in thought. While that's not inherently a bad thing, judging from the atmosphere, he can tell that they're probably not thinking of sunshine, rainbows, and cash showers.

Were he quite so perceptually gifted as a particular triangle, he would see well the exact distress they feel. Mabel stews with guilt and confliction. She feels unworthy of her brother, the brother who is always ready to make sacrifices for her, even when she rarely does the same. How could she be more of a failure as a sibling, letting this happen? Stanford also feels a failure; as a caretaker he wishes that he had better caught on to the dangerous plot that was so recently developing. Even in hindsight he only knows vaguely what caused so much trouble for the twins. Why couldn't he have done something to help? It's _his job_ to protect these kids from the supernatural!

Unfortunately, Dipper merely has his natural senses and keen intuition, all significantly dulled by fatigue. He therefore deems it better not to worry about the others for the moment. If it is all that problematic, the tension will still be there to be addressed later. With this sentiment, he allows himself to thoughtlessly drift through the experience, finally relaxing enough to let his body pull him into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 1 - Velveteen Dreams

The sun peaks over the horizon, it’s beams not yet enough to dispel the heavy fog that drifts in from the lake. Several meters out from the water, a border of pine trees loom, crowding in as close as they dare such that they can drink heartily from the moist soil. Their scent is heady and thick in Dipper’s throat, but he is used to the smell. Despite the terrifying _thing_ that rests in the middle of the lake, disguised as an innocent island, he still rather likes the charming isolation of this place. Besides, it is safe enough here so long as you don’t go in the water.

None of this is really on his mind at the moment. The only thing that exists is his breath, his embouchure, and his sousaphone. Terribly heavy on his shoulders, the instrument is regardless dear to Dipper. He likes the deep and mature yet bold and round tones that he can create with it. He does not like, however, how much tiring practice his private instructor insists that he maintains throughout the summer. The woman has loaded him with all sorts of exercises and sheet music that she expects to be in wonderful form by the end of the season. Sometimes he wishes that he never let on how quick his mind is.

Things simply are how they are, however, and so he stands by the lake playing the same measure over and over. Then he shifts forwards a few beats and practices the next part of the phrase. On the monotony goes. Dipper has come to acknowledge that yes, the recommended methods of practice are honestly the best ways to solidify a piece in your mind and fingers. That doesn’t mean that he has to like it.

His focus is broken by _something,_ a nervous feeling of unease. A garbled noise leaves his instrument for a moment as his fingers fumble on the keys. Instrument forgotten, Dipper turns his back to the lake and scans the surrounding forest. There is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, and yet his heart beats wildly in it’s cage and his hairs all stand on end. It is tempting to dismiss the feeling as nothing more than paranoia, but after having spent weeks dodging the mysterious dangers of Gravity Falls, this twin has well learned his lesson _not_ to ignore such a feeling.

Swallowing nervously, he resolves to run back to the Shack. Sprint would be a more accurate term, for Dipper flies through the woods as fast as his little legs can manage. His careless haste leads to painful encounters. Trips and falls leave his arms scraped and his body bruised, but the fear is a roaring crescendo in his mind. Something is very, very wrong and even with his potent curiosity he has NO desire to stick around and find out what.

After what feels like hours, yet also like very few, short moments, the bold words MYSTERY HACK can be seen through the foliage. With one final burst of speed, Dipper crashes into the clearing in front of the splintery abode. Luckily, everyone is already outside and within hearing range. He sees Grunkle Stan out on the porch, watching Mabel, Soos, and Wendy play some strange game involving water balloons and foam swords that they probably just made up. Dipper stumbles over and waves for their attention.

“Guys, guys, I think there’s something in the woods! Like, really close by; I think it’s after me. I don’t know what to do and I could really use some help!!!” The words tumble out of his lips lightning fast, increasing in volume and pitch with every word. Gasping for breath, Dipper lets his eyes dart between family and friends. Rather than showing panic and concern, their expressions remain neutral - irritated, even.

“Come on, Dipper, we’re in the middle of a game,” Mabel whines with a roll of her eyes, “Go do your weird conspiracy theory stuff somewhere else.” Dipper’s heart sinks sickeningly.

“But-but this is for real! I’m honestly freaking out right now. Something really dangerous is going dow-“

Wendy’s voice cuts mercilessly into his pleas. “Dude, she wasn’t kidding. God, you’re always so needy. Go bother someone else.”

Dipper’s brain wants to shut down. How could they not believe him? How could they not care enough to help? He turns to Soos, about to ask for his opinion, when a sharp glare from the large man silences the boy. Reeling in desperation and no little hurt, Dipper runs over the porch.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan! You gotta believe me, there’s something really weird out there and I need your help!” Dipper shouts rather breathlessly, trying to be heard over the sounds of resumed play from the yard. The con man, his last hope, glares down at him with contempt. “Ya know kid, I really thought you were starting to grow up. To take care of your own problems. I guess I was wrong.” Stan turns away with a disappointed sigh.

Everything seems to fall away. Nobody cares, nobody is going to help. There is no-one to count on; Dipper may as well be completely alone right now. He feels a gentle tugging on his wrists. Looking down at his hands reveals nothing. Yet there the tugging is again, invisible strings pulling from behind him. Before he can turn around, the tugs become a fierce yank of force that sends him reeling backwards and off the porch. His back is the first to hit the ground and his head follows without delay. His mind is spinning and the strings just keep pulling, dragging him across the grass. Flailing at anything and everything, Dipper finds no purchase. Hands paw uselessly at the dirt and grass. He tries to scream but his throat is so tight with fear that no sound can escape. Not that anyone would come to his aid should they hear.

In moments, the helpless boy disappears into the woods. The trees crowd in upon him, casting a dark gloom and watching him behind cruel woody eyes. With a single motion, the dragging force seems to change it’s mind and draws him sharply upwards and suspends him several feet in the air. Dipper is blind with panic as he kicks and shouts. More invisible cords seem to wrap around his ankles, ceasing his struggle. Impossibly, the scenery darkens further and further until all is hardly visible, looking grayscale to his eyes in the dim. Familiar laughter echoes around him, sending terror and dread shivering down his spine.

A blinding light appears directly before him. It is several agonizing minutes before his eyes can adjust enough to gaze upon the source. With despair, he notes that the vividly yellow triangle confirms his suspicions.

“Hiya there, Pine Tree!” the master of dreams greets with a cheerful wave. It’s voice echoes unpleasantly in Dipper’s ears and seems to penetrate into the furthest depths of his mind.

“BILL,” the boy utters with unconcealed hatred. The tone almost conceals his sheer terror. He wishes to say so many things to the trigonometric horror, “ _Let me go! What are you trying to do? Leave me alone! What do you want from me now?_ ” but the futility of objection sits heavily on his tongue. 

“Hahaha, darn straight it’s pointless!” Cipher must’ve snatched the thoughts right out of Dipper’s head, “You’re in the Dreamscape now. There’s no way out of this one, kid.” The demon chortles with glee.

“Wait … the Dreamscape! I can just imagine you away!” Dipper cries. With determination, he bids himself to imagine the loudest electronic music possible. That should buy him enough time to retaliate further. Cacophonous synth leads, square waves, thrumming bass, and all such sounds imaginable flood the air. Yes, good, now just to get free-

The music falters with the squealing scratch of a record. Suddenly, a gentle jazz piece replaces the modern beats. That makes no sense - he’s still thinking about the old music. He’s never even heard this song before; jazz is terrible! Dipper’s gaze snaps back to the demon, receiving an irritated glare that morphs into a smirk of victory. “Oh, silly little Pinetree, do you really think me so weak as to be overwhelmed by the mind of a single human child? Ha! As if! You don’t have your friends here to help you this time and I’m afraid that there’s nothing to be done about it,” Bill lectures with mock remorse. His words are ice in Dipper’s veins. He is completely helpless to this mysterious, evil entity.

“Oh, don’t look so glum! I’m not here to mess with you or anything. I just want to take back what’s mine, you see,” the demon says. Perfectly at ease, he spins his cane in a whimsical manner and taps his foot to the gentle tunes of his own projection.

“What’s yours?! What are you talking about?!” Dipper shouts, struggling in his invisible bonds. In response, the strings suddenly tighten to a painful degree that makes him yelp as they dig into his skin and pull at his limbs. In front of him, Bill grows to enormous size, his one eye boring into the child.

“Ḿ̶Y ̧̀͘P͞Ų͝P͠P̨E̶T̀ ͡Ǫ̨F̀ ̶͘C̢̕͜O̴U̴̧͜R̡SE͠,” the golden triangle’s voice booms with permeating vibes of terror.

“What?!?! No, the deal’s off, remember?” Dipper’s voice cracks with desperation, “You never even gave me the password for the laptop!”

The demon’s form shrinks back down with a laugh and flickers into a sort of screen, displaying the moment of the transaction.

“Seem’s to me one little puppet is a small price to pay to learn all the secrets of the universe!” the Bill in the screen says. With static and fuzz, the image skips forwards. “Tick tock kid,” he then beckons. Past-Dipper sighs, “Just one puppet? Fine!” With a fiery grip, they shake on the deal. The screen reverts to the regular golden bricks.

“You see? I promised you infinite knowledge of everything. When I inhabited your corporeal form, a part of you possessed just that! That’s the deal.”

“No! Nononono that _can’t_ be how it works! That’s not fair!” Dipper cries.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you weren’t more careful about the specifics of the contract. Honestly kid, sloppy work. That meat-bag is mine, fair and triangle!” He chuckles, “Get it? Fair and square, but with a triangle? Ah, I am so good.” The demon wipes away a non-existent tear. “Well, that’s that. Time to make a vacancy, Pine Tree!” With a flourish, Cipher knocks off Dipper’s hat and takes a handful of the curly hair, bracing to untether his soul once more. Demonic laughter echoes endlessly in the void, completely overshadowing the child’s horrified screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say that most dreams, the ones that we never remember, are about tasks that we've been working on recently. Things we're trying to learn. So I started there.  
> (A special thanks to Abby Something ... ah yes, Abby Normal, for reminding me of this story. I know I said an update was unlikely, but then I accidentally went and got myself in the mood to work on it again uvu. No promises of regular chapters or anything, but I thought I'd add some more anyway. I should at least get through Chapter 2 within a decent time.)


	3. Chapter 2 - No Rest for Used Puppets

Limbs flail and tangle in a blanket; Dipper slips off the edge of the couch, the fall tapering his frightened scream into an undignified yelp. He clambers to right himself, feeling terribly like an old engine running full throttle that's ready to fall to bits at any moment. His gasping breath is simply beyond his control, his body shakes pathetically, and his heart aches as the tired muscle pumps at a _presto_ tempo. Surely no-one deserves to feel quite so terrified and so sleep deprived both as he does in this moment.

The memory of the car ride home surfaces. Dipper realizes that he must've fallen asleep at some point along the way. Considering how tired he was, it is not surprising that Grunkle Stan managed to move him without waking him up. Someone even managed to remove his shoes and vest as well as bandage the worst of his injuries. There is even a makeshift splint tied neatly onto his twisted left arm. Indeed, he must have been very deeply asleep.

He's glad that they tucked him in on the couch though; had he been in the room with Mabel, she surely would've been woken by his fitful sleep. The furniture in question seems to call to him with the voice of a siren, promising the luxury of blissful rest. His mind and body both entreat to him, begging him to give in to the furniture's tempting offer. Despite how much he wishes to, how torturous it is to resist, Dipper simply cannot comply. Gripping fear keeps him in a stranglehold of wakefulness. The mere act of considering sleep means thinking of the threat it now poses.

Memories bombard him. 

He remembers watching helplessly as his stolen body is repeatedly damaged, the lingering pain making the memories all too substantial. He remembers watching with distress as Cipher sought out the third journal, what had become _his_ journal, and fearing its loss. He remembers watching with such frustration as the demon interacted so bizarrely with his family and friends yet no-one noticed that anything was wrong.

He remembers watching in horror as Mabel plummeted from the flies of the stage, cast down by the creature he had so foolishly enabled. As he watched them fight, he knew that any injury she received would be entirely his fault. Though it was soon clear that she would be the victor, there were still moments in which all he could think of was the worst that could happen, the unspeakable possibility ...

Dipper shoves his face into his hands and wills the thoughts away. The movement stresses his left arm painfully, eliciting a sharp inhalation from the boy. Rubbing at the tender limb and adjusting its position in the makeshift splint, he curls up in a shaky ball on the floor and lets other despairing thoughts flow.

He knows that it's impossible for him to stay awake forever and improbable that he should be able to make it for even another day. Even staying awake these last few minutes has been trying. On the other hand, he certainly can't go back to that state of vulnerability, he can't give Bill too good of an opportunity - who knows what could happen then? It was a miracle that he woke in time just now! Despite how necessary it is, he can't sleep, he just can't.

At that thought, Dipper's breathing stops. A moment of stillness passes, his foggy mind slowly registering a connection, a memory. All at once, he springs up from the floor. The motion is painful but he hardly cares, he has to verify this _right now_. Where is it, where - ahah! His vest is draped on a nearby chair. He checks and finds the journal safely tucked in the inside pocket. Without further pause, he rushes to and up the stairs, book in hand. Some lingering adrenaline enables him to lightly bound right up them and he makes sure to carefully dodge the creakiest planks and the newly broken step. In moments he reaches the hiding spot of his journal, a place too secret to be mentioned, and grabs the portable blacklight that is also typically stored there. Not wanting to further risk waking his sister, he leaves their bedroom - not to imply that the hiding spot is in _there_ or anything - and pads off to the empty room on the floor right below.

The door creaks open far too loudly for Dipper's liking as he slips into the oddly vacant space. Moonlight streams in through the tinted window, staining everything in the room an eerily deep red. Dipper quickly shakes off the feelings of unease that trickle through his mind. There are pressing matters at hand.

Wasting no further time, he skirts around the disappointingly broken laptop to hop on the window seat. Wrenching the journal open, he anxiously skims for the page he has in mind. He repeatedly pauses to rub at his eyes that were both hazy from tiredness and sore from Pit Cola. Countless beasts and mysteries flip by, gnomes, zombies, magic gems, floating eyes - there it is! One of the last pages with visible writing. The memorable command, "TRUST NO ONE!" glares up at him reproachfully. He places the book on the floor and, hands trembling, flips the switch to cast UV rays upon the page.

The invisible message that is revealed is just as he remembers it, although it is now far less mysterious and far more personally frightening. With a frantic heart, ready to burst, he scans the page upon which a wild script is repeatedly scrawled, "CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP! CAN'T SLEEP!"

Normally the words in the journal would make him imagine what a wise, manly voice the author must've had. As things currently stand, the script just reads as if with the sound of Dipper's own voice screaming. Perhaps now he truly understands just what had the clever writer so tightly wound.

A small, anxious part of him claims with near certainty that he is going to die. The rest of him fears that something else just as bad, if not worse, may also be in store. In tandem, both parts begin to generate and evaluate plans. Something has to be done.

His brain a blender of discordant schemes, the desperate child tucks the journal to his chest and makes to retreat downstairs to seek out a more literal blender, one containing a hopefully considerable measure of the disgustingly sweet Mabel juice from the day before. With no previously established caffeine tolerance, he is sure to get the full benefits of the energy drink. That should buy him some time, at the very least.

With eager anticipation, crimson window panels watch the boy as he slinks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get spoiled by the quick update - this chapter was already mostly done before I even started the previous one. Still, I have a lot of packing to do, so this story is likely to be procrastination fodder over the next few days. We'll just have to see how it goes.
> 
> NOOL AVURZ, KO CXLCUZ OX NINNYJK OPRE JO BYAOQY OPY.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Marionette Negotiates

Dipper coughs and splutters as a plastic dinosaur attempts to lodge itself in his throat. He throws the offending object over the edge of the porch and the stegosaurus disappears into the unkempt grass. The glittery concoction has certainly proved to be the hellish spawn of coffee and nightmares, but it gets the job done. He’s earned at least an extra 2 hours with the drink. Also keeping him awake is the chilly night air, though the temperature combines terribly with the caffeine and sleep deprivation, wracking the child with violent shivers.

Numerous wads of crumpled paper surround him, each bearing multiple rejected propositions and charts. They each mark a step in his descent from optimism into desperation. Why couldn't there be a simple way out? Dipper sets aside the empty juice container and reaches for a single sheet of perfectly smooth stationary. The scribbles upon it are not quite so neat, not with his tremorous hands, but they read clearly enough. This is the best plan he’s been able to think of, that which he intends to implement, and yet he can hardly bring himself to look at the words on the page. Folded in half then half again, the paper is gently tucked next to the journal in his vest pocket. Rather than be thrown away, the rejected plans are crammed into the opposing pocket; he really should burn them just in case someone were to glance in the trash.

Dipper drags himself to a standing position of a hopefully assertive nature. His obvious exhaustion draws greatly from the effect, however. Breathe in, breathe out. This is such a terrible idea, he knows that with every fiber of his being, but there isn’t really much else for him to do in this situation. With a grimace, he calls out as loudly as he dares.

“Bill, I know you’re out there. Come on and show yourself!” the boy speaks to the empty air. With grit teeth and closed eyes, he braces for a response. Nothing. Feeling rather foolish, Dipper opens his eyes one at a time. There is nothing to be seen either. He honestly shouldn’t be surprised that summoning the demon isn’t so easy as calling out for him, but he was rather hoping that it would work. Tangled nerves jolt within him - would he really have to go to sleep in order to have this conversation? Could he actually trust his dreaming self to be lucid enough to pull this off? Shaking slightly more than his caffeinated baseline, he turns back to the house in resignation.

“SURPRISE!” Cipher jumps in Dipper’s face from behind him. With a regrettably feminine screech, the boy jumps impressively high into the air and back several feet. Recovering quickly from the shock, he discerns that he must’ve missed the faded tones of the Dreamscape in the dim of the late night woods. He probably should’ve expected the demon to pull such a prank, honestly.

Cipher waits barely long enough for Dipper to regain his stability before speaking again, “I can’t believe you called for me all by yourself. I am certainly pleased; maybe we can be friends after all!” The triangle swings around to put and arm on the child’s shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. Dipper, rather intensely uninterested, squirms away from the ethereal touch. A single eye glares at him for just a moment before snapping back to a cheery disposition. “What do you want to tell me, pal?”

Fists clenched, Dipper evens his breathing to maintain his tenuous calm. He fishes out the final draft of his plans and holds it before himself as solid reference. A deep inhalation, “I have an offer to make.” This statement piques clear interest in the golden figure.

“Oh really?” Cipher says, the phrase no more than a prompt for the boy to continue.

“Yes,” Dipper confirms shakily. Time to lay down the framework. “I know that in order to get anything from you, I have to have something to give, something that you can’t already get on your own.” He receives an unusual, triangular nod of confirmation. “Considering that most all of the cards are in your hands, there isn’t all that much that qualifies. So after much deliberation, I’ve decided to offer my unique skills as a human being.”

“Nice try kid,” Bill replies, “but what can you possibly be capable of that I can’t do better?”

Dipper clenches the paper tightly, not even looking at it anymore. “Live. I’m better at living.” Bill gives him a questioning glance. “You see,” he continues, “you are so bad at managing a human form. Yesterday was a disaster for you.” It was a disaster for Dipper as well, but he needs to distance himself from that for now. Just talk about it like a story, nothing but cold facts and events. “You clearly don’t understand the limits of being a person - you totally wrecked my body, man!” So much for neutrality. He sighs angrily. Calm down, Dipper, you gotta do this right. He draws a hand over his face. “If … If you let me be in charge of my body, I’m sure I could do a lot better. I’m an expert at being me, after all. And I’d do whatever you asked me to, just as long as you don’t kick me out again.”

“Hmm, I suppose that you do have a point there, Pine Tree. I do tend to get a bit, eh, _overzealous_ whenever I have a chance to run around in the real world.” The evil triangle floats towards Dipper, uncomfortable close to his face. “Would you honestly be willing to promise to do _anything_ that I ask? Are you truly cut out for that kind of subservience to such a new friend?”

Dipper backpedals frantically, “NO, no, not anything! Just … most things,” he holds his plans in front of himself like a shield, “I already wrote out some reasonable exceptions, okay? Just, just take a look at them. Please.”

The paper vanishes from his hands and reappears in the claws of the monster. “That's more like it; I knew you had a brain in there somewhere. Alright, let’s see,” he peers at the sloppy scrawls, “Sheesh, your handwriting needs work. Anyway, you say that I can’t make you do anything that would bring permanent harm to yourself … everything needs to be discreet such that nobody notices our arrangement - that idea sounds good on my end too, I like it … no direct harm, physical, mental, or emotional, to any of your friends and family … and nothing that could cause them to come to harm indirectly? Come on, be reasonable kid. Pretty much everything has a slight chance of causing trouble for someone. We’ll have to strike that one off-“ with a snap, the relevant sentence disappears from the parchment, “aaand you refuse to do something called the ‘Lamby Lamby Dance’?” Dipper flushes; he had forgotten adding that particular article. He blames his drowsiness for having him come up with such things. Bill seems to zone out for a moment, probably tapping into his omniscience to see what exactly the dance entails, as suggested by the amused snort he eventually gives. “Alright alright, fair enough, Pine Tree. Let’s go ahead and get this party started!” he exclaims with a flourish of his cane and the incineration of the hasty document.

“I can tell you want to do this more professionally this time, right kid?” To this Dipper nods in hesitant confirmation. The demon clears his imaginary throat, “It is my request that you, little Dipper Pine Tree, agree to follow my _every_ command. In return, I, your wonderful buddy the _amazing_ Bill Cipher, agree to act according to the following limitations: I shall not take possession of your physical form, I shall make no demands that require you to hurt your family or friends in any way, mind or matter, nor shall I require you to come to permanent physical harm, nor shall I require action that reveals our arrangement to anyone, nor shall I demand that you perform the humiliating dance of lambs. Do you agree to these terms?”

Dipper loathes this, he wishes for anything else, but “Yes,” he says, “Yes, I agree.”

Cipher starts to lean forward, arm outstretched. “By the way,” he adds, retreating slightly, “if I fail to uphold my part of the deal, you can get off scot free. Rid of me forever. But,” the demon’s hand bursts into ominous blue flames that flicker threateningly, “if you refuse to do something for me that is permissible according to our terms, I get to take your body and make you do it anyway. If you then conspire to retrieve your body once more without my express permission,” his form blinks red for a split second as he continues, “I͢͠ ̸G͏E̢T̢͜ ̛T̴O̕͢͠T͠͞A͏K͏E҉͟ ̶̨͞Y̷͠O̡U̵͢R̛҉ SƠU̢͝L҉̴͠ ̸A̵S̛ ́C҉͜OM̡PE̴NS͟ĄŢ̸I̧O҉̕Ņ͡.̶” With a cheerful grin, or at least the eye of such an expression, he whispers, “That last bit is non-negotiable, by the way.”

Feeling quite faint, Dipper bemoans that he never intended for the agreement to become nearly so severe. But if he follows the deal carefully, he can be assured of his own safety and the safety of those around him. Things would only get _really_ bad if he was outrageously uncompliant to the deal. This is honestly his best chance of getting some peace back to his life.

“Okay,” Dipper forces himself to say, hand reaching out slowly, “just as long as you let me sleep soundly again, yeah?” With a nod of affirmation, Bill tightly grasps his hand in a fiery grip, “It’s a deal!”

All settled, the demon vanishes and color returns to the world. Without delay, Dipper falls down to the porch in relief and irresistible fatigue. Shifting the heap of himself to a more comfortable position, he resigns himself to sleep outside on the splintery planks; he’s simply much too tired to retreat inside. In his last conscious moments, he hears echoes of laughter and a cruel whisper, “I’ve got a secret for you, Pine Tree. The truth is, I never actually visited your dreams earlier - that was all you! Boy am I lucky that you’re such an anxious mess! You see, our deal actually _was_ off. I had no right to come back after your body. You woulda been perfectly fine had you only gone on with your life like normal. Thanks for the deal, though; I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends!”

 

Dipper knows only abstract dreams of terror and regret that night, never a pause of clarity or wakefulness until well into the morning. In this way, however, his sleep is undeniable sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bill is being creepily friendly but know that there is NOT going to be any kind of twisted romance going on, wether you like it or not. He just likes getting what he wants and loves to flavor that with the satisfaction of disturbing people for the hell of it. (He also has a pretty twisted concept of friendship, so that doesn't help any.)
> 
> This is certainly a transitional point in the plot, so I may continue this in a new story and make it a series or just keep adding chapters here, I haven't yet decided.
> 
> CPZ KO JVY NINNYJ NRCEK LUWVJ BCAS UPJO JVY KJLUPWK OX VUK ALIYR NINNYJ QCKJYL
> 
> (By the way, my silly little messages are always just an atbash and a traditional 3 letter caesar away, though it's not always consistent which comes first, I'm afraid.)


	5. Chapter 4 - Tangling the Strings

Poke. Poke. Poke.

The sensation stirs Dipper’s mind just enough to untether it from the depths of unconsciousness.

Poke. Poke.

His left cheek begins to hurt from the repetitive gesture. Thoughts rising further still, his swats blindly at the area beyond his face and groans in nonverbal complaint.

Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE!

Rolling away comes automatically, but the action only adds to the discomfort as bruises press into the unforgiving wood. Breaking the surface of wakefulness, Dipper opens his eyes to glare at the source of the assault. A bright, brace-entangled grin greets him mere inches from his eyes. Surprise sends the boy shuffling back several feet, or it would were there not a wall mere inches behind him. His side collides with a thud.

“Good morning, Dipdop! Ready to go on a road trip?” Mabel’s cheery self beams nearly as brightly as the offensive glare of the sun from directly behind her. Her twin’s only response is to shield his bleary eyes with a twiggy arm and to mumble something completely incoherent.

Her face twists with concern that is concealed by her own shadow. “Hey, uh … Dipper?” she asks hesitantly, “Why were you sleeping on the porch?” Until she mentioned that very fact, Dipper’s somnolent mind hardly even registered his location. Memories from the night before trickle back slowly, but he quickly remembers just enough to know that he’d rather not share the exact circumstances.

“You see, it’s just that …” his mind, several tics slower than usual, scrabbles for a response, “Well, it was getting pretty warm in the living room and a little claustrophobic so I thought hey, why don’t I go out for some fresh air, but then I was still _really_ sleepy so I think maybe I just, ya know, just crashed out here. Whoops.” Dipper laughs uneasily and rubs at his unkempt hair. He’s never been very good at lying, but at least he was _somewhat_ close to the truth on this one. Maybe .. maybe it was the truth. Maybe it had all been nightmares and sleepwalking. The denial is flimsy enough to make him wince, but the rest of him feels better with the rationalization. There’s always that chance that everything is just fine.

Mabel is clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t press the issue. With a sigh, she swoops in to grab her brother by the wrists and hauls him painfully to his feet, “Well, whatever you were up to, it’s time for you to get dressed. Grunkle Stan wants us to leave while it’s still early; you can always go back to sleep in the car.” After a pause, she releases his injured hand and grips his other tightly with both of hers, “Dipper. You _do_ know that you can talk to me about anything, right? You are _so_ important, more than anything else, and I lost sight of that - I’m sorry … but I still want to be there for you, now more than ever. You know that, don’t you?” Mabel’s eyes look deeply into his, gleaming with determination and passion.

Guilt gnaws at Dipper’s heart, but he has no choice but to keep quiet, “Yeah, I know.” He smiles meekly, “There’s … it’s nothing. I’m just really tired, is all.” Something in his face must give away that there really _is_ something up because his sister just frowns at him. All at once, she releases his hand and goes in for the biggest hug she can manage, enveloping her counterpart in warm, sweatery goodness. The embrace hurts, it really does, but he needs the comfort so badly that his emotions completely disregard the complaints of his body; Dipper’s arms spare no time in returning the embrace.

“I love you too, Mabel,” he whispers. A whole minute passes thusly. With a wry smile, Dipper says, “You know, this hug is nowhere _near_ awkward enough.”

He can hear his sister gasp over his shoulder, “Oh no, you’re right!” In one synchronized motion, the twins loosen their grips into a more nostalgic hug, one from the days before this town helped them to grow so close.

“Pat, pat,” they each exclaim blandly with the appropriate motion. Mabel releases her brother, expression somewhat closer to relief, and wrinkles her nose.

“You really do need to go take a shower before we go, bro-bro. And wear some clothes that have been washed at least once since you first wore them.” Before Dipper can complain in indignation, his sister disappears through the screen door. Her departure leaves him with no reason to resist the urge to slump over pitifully.

“Ow,” he complains dully, his aches making themselves well known in the silence. His left arm in particular throbs painfully. As he clutches it near to his chest and rubs it gently, he notices something unusual on his left hand. There’s writing on it! The ink is smudged, probably from Mabel’s warm fingers, but he can still make it out:

_THE DEAL IS REAL_

_\- Bill_

Great, Dipper thinks despairingly, there goes whatever sliver of denial still remained. Still more writing peeks out from under the edge of the already fraying home-made splint.

_LOOK WHAT I DID TO YOUR OTHER HAND_

What?! Oh God; panic seizes him as his imagination runs wild with the possibilities. Forcing himself to look at his right arm, he wonders what kind of horrible -

_LOOK!_

_A TURKEY!_

The fingers are outlined in pen and little legs are drawn sticking out at the wrist. There’s even the head of a turkey sketched on his thumb. Dipper sighs in relief at the lack of severity, though he can’t help but feel a bit frazzled by the demon’s range of frivolity. Is this _seriously_ what his life has come to? How can he even know what to expect anymore??

His whole torso slumps in resignation. For now, he’ll just take things one step at a time. Don’t look too far forward, don’t let yourself wonder. Just breathe and don’t think. He usually applies such coping mechanisms to more innocent, normal-life sorts of anxieties, but they should still help now. In theory.

Scary thoughts entirely suppressed, albeit behind a concerningly flimsy mental screen, Dipper glances about the porch for his hat. Dusting it off, he plops it back on his head. There. Everything’s normal, everything’s okay.

That was, of course, a terribly inaccurate statement - one that Dipper only manages to hide behind for the few short minutes it takes him to retreat to the Shack’s main bathroom. Glancing nervously at the closed door, the child decides to put off the unpleasant but necessary task of bathing with something else equally important and certainly more pressing.

He’s only destroying the evidence of last night’s encounter so that nobody finds out. Assuming that, knowing about the supernatural, they wouldn’t send him to a psychiatrist, they’d still worry and try to help but they wouldn’t be able to and it’d be terrible. Besides, what would they think of him for being so stupid? Being tricked by a demon is embarrassing enough, but being completely, ruinously fooled by _yourself_ and letting a demon take advantage? Shame and biting self reprimand clench tightly around Dipper’s heart, adding sharp spurs to the cold vice of the guilt of his growing list of secrets.

Yes, he tells himself as he reduces all the incriminating papers into pulpy mush in the sink, yes, this is just for outward appearances. If he scrubs at the monster’s writing upon his hands a bit more roughly than strictly necessary, that’s just him trying to be thorough. That may fail to explain the manner in which his breath comes so shallow and fast, or the way his hands tremble whenever they have the chance, but at least the roaring of the faucet’s ancient pipes is enough to drown out any objections his psyche might have to the excuses.

Showering is always unpleasant. Dipper hates how exposed he feels, hates the feeling of water all over him like he’s drowning, hates how his unruly hair _always_ drips shampoo in his eyes, rendering him blind and helpless. The lack of a lock in the bathroom here and the way nobody seems to knock - as he learned when secretly enjoying his favorite but particularly feminine brand of music - makes the experience particularly cringe-worthy.

This time, getting to see all the little details of what damage Bill wreaked upon his body makes bathing just that much more fun. Dipper doesn’t even regret it when soap inevitably falls into his face; at least now he doesn’t have to vacillate between awkwardly looking away from himself and pretending that everything is perfectly fine. The process is over in mere minutes but he is still immensely relieved to have it over with.

After rubbing his head on a towel, clearing the soap from his face, and opening his eyes again, he realizes that whatever bandaging his family had managed the night before was all lost to the torrents of water. There’s some bleeding on his limbs, but no more than slow trickles that are staunched with tissues easily enough. Careful not to stress his now unrestrained left arm, Dipper slips into the perfectly clean t-shirt that his sister had previously managed to procure as if by magic. The rest of his outfit follows quickly; in seconds he stands confidently and slips his signature cap on for the second time today. Mabel would probably object that the dirty old thing would ruin his freshly cleaned scalp, but he could hardly care less right now.

Just as Dipper is about to leave, he hears three sharp rapping noises from somewhere behind him. It sounds almost like someone was knocking on the door, but the door is in the opposite direction of the noise. Glancing about nervously, he wonders what and where the source could possibly be.

_Knock knock knock._

There it is again. Now that he’s paying closer attention, Dipper zeroes in on the sound. It’s coming from … the cabinet under the mirror? At least that narrows it down to something small, but in this place that could mean anything from a rabid opossum to a freakish candy-stealing monster. Whatever the creature is, somebody will surely have to deal with it eventually. He might as well not let it get the jump on anyone. Admittedly, he is also very curious as to what it might be.

With a grimace, he shuffles over to grab the sink plunger as an impromptu weapon. Please let this not be another savage bat … Crouching to the side so that the small door opens away from him, Dipper swings it open all at once. Nothing jumps out immediately, nor in the next several seconds. Carefully, he peeks into the cabinet space.

“Hey there!” the glowing triangle shouts the moment Dipper lays eyes on it. Startled, he falls back with a yelp and the plunger flies out of his hands. The demon was the last thing he expected to find. What the heck is Bill doing in there? Has he already come to make Dipper run off and do something terrible? Mind racing, the boy sprawls frozen in a crab-walk position. All he can think to say is, “ _Seriously?!_ ”

Cipher sighs in exasperation, “Don’t give me that, kid - I could ask you the same. Why is it so hard not to freak you out every time I try to say hello?! I could have sworn I had it right.” With a snap, he summons a book to float in the air before him. As the thick volume flips open to one of many dog-eared pages, Dipper manages to glance at the title. _POLITE HUMAN INTERACTION: 21ST CENTURY AMERICA EDITION,_ it reads. What? He never thought that the presumably omniscient being would ever bother to read, let alone read something so irrelevant to him.

Bill continues his rant before Dipper can ponder much further, “No, look, there it is - visiting someone at their house. You just gotta knock on the door and wait for them to open it and then you greet them! I’m paraphrasing quite a bit, but it’s still simple stuff, really.” He glares at the boy and points an accusatory finger, “I think it’s fair in this situation to assume that _you_ are the one messing this up. I knew that you were awkward, but I continue to be surprised. You should probably study if you ever want to make any friends. I _would_ loan you my copy, but these things are hard to come by. Time-travelers drive hard bargains, as you might imagine, and this is a _very_ popular edition. Very specific too. Lots of time and lots of space out there, after all.”

Dipper can only stare as he receives what seems to be some sort of lecture. Only half listening, he realizes that the world around him is still in color. “Wait, I’m still in the real world - How are _you_ here?!” he interrupts. The book vanishes.

“That’s my Pine Tree, always asking the interesting questions,” the demon compliments with a giggle, the previous subject abandoned in a flash. “It’s simple really - I’m not actually here.” Dipper’s face twists in confusion. Questions rise in his throat, but he doesn’t have a chance to voice them.

“You see, the difference between popping into your conscious and unconscious states of mind is a lot smaller than you’d think. There’s just several reasons why messing with people in their dreams is more effective and boy is it a lot easier to get in when someone’s guard is down like that. As it is, I’m only able to manipulate your surface thoughts. Sensory input processing, more specifically. So to your little flesh brain, I might as well be here for real, but technically - I am not,” he finishes with arms crossed in satisfaction.

Dipper has to admit, he finds Bill’s currently cooperative and straightforward manner very refreshing, but he can’t help but wonder how far it goes. “Okaaay, just gonna pretend that’s not creepy and disturbing. So … can you tell me _why_ you’re here? Or not here - whatever. Why it is that you are talking to me.” He really hopes that nobody is listening in on him talking to the empty air.

“It’s complicated, in that _you’re_ complicated,” his magical hallucination explains, “Or maybe all humans are like this. It’s just, I’ve known ever since I laid eye on you that something about you is special. You’re smart, curious, resilient - all great traits. I like ya! Which is weird because most humans are really pathetic and disingenuous, you know? So I thought hey, let’s try this human friendship thing! Only, you were really set on hating me; it didn’t help that my first deal back in Gravity Falls was to invade the mind of a blood relation of yours - a bad first move. But that was _before_ I met you! You were really impressive back there, thwarting me like that,” he points to the child with his cane, eye gleaming with a smile-less grin.

Dipper’s heart warms at the flattery. No-one ever talks about him with such open positivity … It’s kind of sad that the speaker is a demon and a particularly suspicious one at that. He lets the distrust freely express on his face and takes a defensive stance, “If you like me so much, then why did you trick me into giving you my body? Why did you go and injure me in like fifty different ways?! And why did you take advantage of me last night with that terrible deal?!?!” By the end of this line of inquiry, the child shifts to aggression with a burning glare and fierce gesticulations.

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there kid,” the triangular vision defends, his tone reminiscent of the day before when Dipper accused him of potentially “replacing my eyes with baby heads,” as he put it. “I was just getting desperate. The guy who made that laptop was really paranoid, easily disturbed. Pretty much all that’s on it were the biased rants of a lunatic. And that journal you found is barely any better. Just because these people had information about supernatural phenomena doesn’t mean that they really knew what was going on. I was afraid that you were getting full of misconceptions, so I decided to intervene. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust me _at all_ compared to that crazy author guy, so I had to use a bit of … misdirection. And then, about wrecking your body - you know how cold and numb the Mindscape is. Imagine being stuck there for thousands of years on end! So yeah, I got a bit carried away; I thought it was enough to make sure that nothing happened that wouldn’t grow back. Apparently, injury is a bigger deal than I thought. I’m sorry,” the demon slumps sadly to match his apology. The sentiment is laughably ironic given its source.

He neglects to specifically answer the final question, but Dipper hardly notices that because, what? Bill Cipher - apologizing? This makes no sense to Dipper at all. But his expression and tone seem so genuine, and his explanation makes decent enough sense. Reviewing the information, the human boy’s eyes widen comically, “Wait, you talked about the author like you knew him, or at least about him. What do you know?!”

Bill laughs, “Didn’t I tell ya, pal? I know LOTS of things. No, but really, I did meet him once or twice. I _could_ tell you all about it …” he draws out a pause, relishing in the boy’s transparent anticipation, “but I know better than anyone that knowledge is power and I’m afraid that I just can’t trust you with that quite yet.” Dipper’s face falls and his brows furrow with frustration at the disappointment. One of them tics back up an inch.

“Yet?” he fishes for some sort of elaboration. The chances are good, he wagers, what with the normally evasive triangle being so cooperative today and all.

Cipher giggles with delight, “Good ol’ Pine Tree, at it again with the good questions - here, have a star!” A golden star-sticker appears in the demons hands and, before Dipper can dodge, he smacks the decoration firmly on the boy’s forehead, right above the indigenous constellation. Dipper reaches up to remove the somewhat undignified piece from his person, but he can neither feel it nor, with a glance in the mirror, see it. What?

“Like I said, I’m just here as an illusion stuck in your brain. So was the sticker - sorry about the fake present. Aaaaanywaaay, back to explaining. I did say I wanted to be friends, didn’t I? And friends share secrets, especially when they have ones as cool as mine! But you gotta put some effort into this relationship; I can’t be doing all the work here! Besides, if you help me well enough with the small stuff, I’ll let you in on the big stuff - a lot of neat knowledge there, believe me.”

“Oh I believe it,” Dipper rolls his eyes into a glare, “But you make it sound like I have any choice in this!” The boy throw his arms up in anger and shouts as loud as he dares behind the thin bathroom door. “Don’t pretend like everything’s okay and that we’re gonna be best buds - you tricked me! Even without direct control, I’m still your fun little puppet to play with!”

“EASY! Easy! You’ve been such a good listener, just hear me out,” Bill placates. Dipper crosses his arms in an attempt to look stern, but remains silent. “My plans have been in development for a long time - longer than you can truly comprehend. And wether I like it or not, I _need_ the help of someone like you, so when you seemed dead set against me … Like I said, I got desperate. The last thing I want is for millennia of waiting and watching to go to waste. But I would still like to be on good terms. Who knows, if we really get along, I might even call off the deal.”

Dipper’s almost sick of feeling surprised by now, but if he’s telling the truth, “Wait, what? For rea-“

“DIIIIIIIPPEEEEEER!” His sister’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation like lumberjack with a lightsaber. With a small “poof” and a shower of golden sparks, the demon disappears from Dipper’s sight. He’s torn between irritation at the termination of such an important question and relief that the strange and confusing creature has apparently left his mind for the moment.

The door slams open with enough force to genuinely threaten integrity of its hinges. Thank goodness Dipper has already been dressed for several minutes. Okay yeah, as twins they used to bathe together frequently, but it’s just not the same now that they’re older!

“Bro, what’s taking you so lon-“ Mabel’s face twists miserably and her voice softens by a handful of decibels. “Hey, what happened to all your bandages and stuff?” She reaches out to gently touch his good arm.

He brushes her off defensively, “Nothing, they just came off in the shower. No big deal; they’re easy to replace.”

“Yeah, but look at your face!” she points at the apparently problematic visage. Dipper glances in the mirror - Oh, that does look bad. The cuts on his cheeks must’ve re-opened at some point, oozing red all over the sides of his face. With a vague, non-verbal noise meaning something along the lines of, “true, good point,” he turns on the sink and rinses away the stains.

The moment his face is clean, hands fly to his face with something sticky. After the previous incident, Dipper’s reflexes are ready to bat them away while cringing into the opposite direction. He opens his eyes to see Mabel, looking hurt, holding a handful of colorful children’s band-aids. Words catch in the boy’s throat: on the one hand, he feels a little guilty for reacting like that; on the other hand, a part of him can’t help but urge him to complain about her girly plasters of choice. A surprisingly uncomfortable silence proceeds.

“So … let’s get going,” Dipper breaks it hesitantly. Without further exchange, that is exactly what the twins proceed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait - I've been getting started at college! (At least this chapter was longer ...) In related news, I can't make any promises about future consistency. I do think it likely that I'll stay in the mood to work on this occasionally, though.
> 
> (yes I did steal from a deleted scene, yes that does make me feel slightly clever, yes you can disagree with that presumption)
> 
> OD'E JID ICD-IR-UPWFWUDSF OR OD'E ~WUDOJQ~


End file.
